Wanting to Kiss
by GrnEydDvl
Summary: Baz reminisces about all the times he wanted to kiss Simon Snow. SnowBaz.


**Disclaimer: I do not own** _ **Carry On**_ **or any of its characters. I only own my own ideas.**

 **BAZ**

The first time I wanted to kiss Simon Snow, I was twelve years old.

I had had a nightmare. Back then, most of my nightmares were about the day my mother was killed. The day I was turned. I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, my breathing heavy and ragged. I turned over and the first thing I saw was that mole. Simon was asleep, nightmare free, and a shaft of moonlight lay across his cheek, illuminating the mole, which contrasted sharply against his skin in the darkness. And I felt a sudden, insatiable urge to kiss it. To have that kiss take away the residual pain and fear from my dream. I realized what I was thinking with a jolt and shook my head to clear my thoughts. I didn't even know I was gay back then (I was only twelve, just a first year, and I had never been attracted to anyone before, girl or boy.) And Simon Snow was my enemy. Everyone in my family told me so. What the hell was I thinking of kissing him for. I rolled away from him and willed myself to go back to sleep.

The second time I wanted to kiss Simon Snow, he had just slain a dragon.

I couldn't believe he slew a dragon. What was he thinking? Even my family wasn't dark enough to kill dragons. At least he was properly remorseful about it. He was huddled on his bed, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he rocked back and forth. He still reeked of smoke and I opened the window to try to air the room out before I suffocated.

"You're going to be cursed for life you know," I said. Cruelly. Everything I said to him back then was cruel. "You literally couldn't have screwed up more." Normally Simon would respond in some way, either by retorting, punching me, or bursting into tears, but this time he ignored me entirely. No, that's not it. I don't think he was ignoring me. I think he genuinely didn't hear me. He was too wrapped up in himself, regretting what he did without my unfriendly reminders of his stupidity. And my heart went out to him. I wanted to do something, anything, to take away his pain (even though I was usually the one causing him pain.) And I felt an unbidden urge to kiss him and tell him that everything would be alright, that dragons can't actually place curses, but I stopped myself when I realized where my thoughts were going. What the hell was wrong with me? I needed some fresh air, so I left the room as quickly as I could, leaving Simon to his suffering.

The 30th time I wanted to kiss Simon Snow, he was sick as a dog.

A virus was going around and Simon had caught it. He spiked a high fever and was put on bed rest and fluids to sleep it off. I just went to my room to grab some clothes. I was planning on spending the night in Niall and Dev's room. I'm not supposed to do that, but I didn't want to catch Simon's flu. (This was before I realized that vampires can't actually get the flu.)

When I got to our room, Simon was sleeping violently. I didn't know anyone could do that, but he was thrashing around and moaning while clearly sound asleep. I could feel the heat radiating off his body even from my side of the room. His blankets were on the floor, his chest was bare, and he was soaked in sweat. I wanted to do something for him, to cool him off somehow, but I can't cast cooling spells on people (my magic burns, so it counters the effect) and I didn't care about him enough to go to the kitchens for ice. That wasn't my job. My job was to be his enemy. But I found compassion for him in his pitiful state, and it's not like I didn't have easy access to something cool. I never would have done it if he was awake, but he was so clearly asleep that I decided to risk it.

Soundlessly, I approached his bed and lay my ice cold hand on his forehead. Crowley he was hot to the touch. But it seemed to work. After a minute he stopped thrashing, and the moaning stopped soon afterwards. Simon lay blissfully still under my hand. I had never been this close to him when we weren't punching each other, and I felt eager and nervous at the same time. I wanted desperately to kiss him right then, to feel his dry lips on my own, but I didn't dare. What I was doing was bad enough. If Simon woke up and caught me... I didn't even want to think about it. Reluctantly, I withdrew my hand, grabbed my clothes, and bolted before I did something I'd regret.

The 147th time I wanted to kiss Simon Snow, I had just beat him up.

To be fair, he had beaten me up too, so it's not like it was one sided. We were both in the infirmary. I was pressing ice to my broken nose (nurse's orders), and Simon was sporting a split lip. Blood oozed from it and trickled down his chin. And I was drawn to it. To him, to his lips, to his blood. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to lick the blood from his chin and taste it. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to stare at his mouth.

That was also the first time I remember craving blood.

The 361st time I wanted to kiss Simon Snow, he was kissing someone else.

Simon was blessedly not tailing me that afternoon, so I decided to take advantage of the peace and go hunting in the woods. I wasn't too far in, (I could still see Watford through the trees) when I saw them. Simon and Agatha Wellbelove, lip locked and oblivious to anything else around them. Everything inside of me shattered. I turned and ran, desperate to get away, my heart hammering in my chest. When I was confident I had put enough distance between us, I leaned against a tree to catch my breath and squeezed my fists tightly, my fingernails digging painfully into my palms. I knew that Simon and Wellbelove were dating. I had seen them walking across the lawn, holding hands. But I had tried not to think about it, what it meant. It didn't matter to me. It shouldn't matter to me. But seeing them together like that dredged up feelings I didn't want, and definitely didn't know what to do with.

I wanted to take Wellbelove's place. I wanted it to be me that Simon had pressed up against a tree, my waist his arms were wrapped around, my mouth his tongue explored. I wanted him. I needed him. I loved him.

I what?

I was in love with Simon Snow. I knew that now. I probably knew it before, but was unwilling to admit it, but I couldn't deny it anymore. No matter how much I hated it, no matter how much I didn't want it or how hopeless it was, it was true, and it wasn't going away.

"Damn you Simon Snow," I whispered as hot tears streamed down my face. "Damn you."

The 786th time I wanted to kiss Simon Snow, he wasn't even there.

Of course he wasn't. No one was. Except the numpties.

I was drifting. I wasn't sure how long I had been in the coffin, but it had been weeks. I was starving and thirsty and I had to pee again. Drifting was my defense mechanism, something to keep me sane. I would float somewhere between dreams and reality, sort of in a trancelike state, and try to shut out the world around me. But my dreams always led me to one place, and I let them. Simon was my anchor. My rock. The one thing I was sure of, even in my miserable situation. My feelings for Simon kept me strong, they kept me human. I imagined kissing him. I imagined holding him in my arms and drawing him close. We never talked in my fantasies, because I didn't have the foggiest idea what he would say, and frankly, I wasn't really sure what I would say. Something wrong, I knew that much. So we didn't talk. We just kissed. And I savored every second. And somehow, the long hours in the coffin didn't seem as long.

The 829th time I wanted to kiss Simon Snow, he kissed me back.

I stopped counting after that.


End file.
